


Harold's War

by foreverHenry919



Category: Forever (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Burying The Hatchet, Crimes & Criminals, Fantasy, Gen, Murder, Strange Bedfellows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26135464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverHenry919/pseuds/foreverHenry919
Summary: Henry is badly injured and sidelined early into an investigation. Hanson is on vacation and also unavailable. Although Lucas is willing to be more helpful to Jo, he now has to pull double duty in the morgue. Jo finds that she has no choice but to turn to someone not known for being helpful: Dr. Harold Washington, ME.
Relationships: Abe Morgan & Henry Morgan, Jo Martinez & Henry Morgan
Comments: 26
Kudos: 12





	1. Harold's War Ch 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Forever TV 2014 show or any of its characters --- but that's what I want for Christmas.

VVVVVVVV

Bellevue Hospital … 

“You **_can’t_** be serious,” Henry said to Jo as he frowned, his Welsh accent landing heavily on the word "can't", and disappointment showing through his skepticism. Having finished the homemade lunch of broccoli chowder she had delivered to him from Abe, he pushed the tray table away from his hospital bed and gave her his full attention. “Is there another Dr. Washington in the OCME?” he asked facetiously. 

Jo stifled a laugh before replying. “Nope. The same one we all know and love to hate.” 

Henry sighed and frowned deeper. “Don’t exactly hate the man but … why? I will be able to continue with the investigation in a day or two. Surely, things can keep until then.” 

“No, Henry, things can’t,” she reminded him. “You know as well as I do that the first 48 hours are the most critical to solving a crime.” 

“But why him, Jo?” He didn’t like or even understand her decision to temporarily enlist the aid of his fellow ME who habitually cut corners and glossed over details to hurriedly arrive at the most convenient of COD’s. “Granted, my mobility is somewhat hampered right now ---” 

“Somewhat? Henry, your left leg and left wrist are broken. It’s going to take a while for you to be up and around again.” 

A while. Hmmm. Well, unbeknownst to her or anyone else besides Abe, he could remedy that right away. He could kick himself for not being more careful when he’d descended the stairs at home a little too quickly and wound up in a heap at the foot of them the previous morning. He blamed his carelessness on being too eager to be with Jo again even if it was at yet another crime scene. And it was just his luck that Jo had witnessed him injuring himself. If she hadn’t, he would have been able to employ his unique brand of self-healing and the investigation would have continued without him missing a beat. 

Jo glanced at the dishes on his tray table and asked if he wanted her to return them to Abe. He thanked her but declined, saying that Abe could pick them up when he visited him later that evening. 

“Well … guess I’ll go now,” she told him with a smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

“I’m being released tomorrow morning,” he told her. “You can reach me at my home. But you didn’t answer my question, Detective,” he politely but sternly reminded her. “Why have you chosen to ask this incompetent to work with you? And to my knowledge, he has no experience in field investigations.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she responded. “Back in the mid-’80s to early ’90s, he frequently participated in field investigations. Had a pretty decent closure rate, too.”

This greatly surprised Henry. “I had no idea.” 

“Neither did I,” she admitted. “I thought he had just spent the past 40 years of his career in the morgue; his heart growing colder day by day.” 

“What made him stop doing field investigations?” Henry asked. It must have been something so unpleasant that the man had no longer trusted himself to be of any value to the NYPD detectives, he silently concluded. In the 1950’s he had made his own decision to stop being a medical doctor to the living when he’d realized that he would abandon his Hippocratic Oath if it meant exposing his secret. 

“The last case that he was involved with didn’t end so well,” she began. “Apparently, the perp, Destin Taylor, walked because the prosecution couldn’t prove its case against him. Even though the gun registered to him was proven to be the murder weapon and he was believed to have been the shooter, no GSR was found on him or his clothing. The jury ruled that to be reasonable doubt.” 

“Hmphf. So, the perpetrator knew to cleanse himself and launder his clothing after he’d shot the murder victim,” Henry said. 

“Possibly,” she replied with a sigh. “The murder victim was Taylor’s wife; and Dr. Washington helped bring him to justice but that little technicality worked to get Taylor a not guilty verdict.” 

Henry pursed his lips and huffed a breath in and out. “That would have greatly disturbed and disappointed me to watch a murderer go free after all that hard work bringing him to justice,” he conceded and reluctantly felt a twinge of empathy toward the frequently errant ME. The question of why had Washington not performed his job as a medical examiner better in order to compensate, entered Henry’s mind. He stroked the fingers of his free hand across his forehead. He then lowered his hand and looked her in the eyes. 

“There must be a very compelling reason that makes you wish to have him work with you on this case.” 

“There is,” she confirmed. “The M.O., in this case, matches the one in that 1994 case.” 

<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>

It felt odd entering the office of Dr. Harold Washington, ME, instead of Henry’s in order to discuss a case and plot strategy to solve it. In fact, Jo had never even been in his office at all. Had never had any need to be there --- that is, until now. Even though she’d told Henry earlier that she wanted to have Washington help her on this particular case, she still wasn’t sure what to say to him exactly to convince him to do so. But she squared her shoulders, entered his office, and shuddered from the chill --- colder than that in the morgue it seemed to her --- perpetuated by the man’s cold nature and how he emotionally distanced himself from others more than Henry ever had. Henry was coming around a bit. But this man … She cleared her throat to get his attention, to get him to raise his head up from the report he was writing, and acknowledge her presence. 

“Excuse me, Dr. Wash---” 

“I’m very busy whoever you are,” he said, interrupting her while he remained bent over the report. “And a closed door implies that a person should knock first before entering.” 

“I’m Det. Jo Martinez,” she responded, careful to keep the irritation out of her voice. “Sorry for not knocking but I’d like to ask you some questions about a case I’m working on.” 

He scoffed. “And why is that, Detective? You usually reserve such questions for that chaotic-brained boy wonder, Dr. Morgan; or your muscle-headed partner, Det. Henson.” 

"Hanson," she quickly corrected him. She temporarily regretted having sought out his help but managed to keep her cool as she explained why neither man was available at the time. “In the meantime, I feel that you could help me a lot with this case.” 

“I do _not_ do field investigating,” he emphatically told her. “It simply doesn’t interest me.” 

“Oh, I think you’ll be interested in this particular case,” she confidently told him. 

Finally, he looked up at her with that familiar look of weary annoyance on his face. “And why would you think that, Detective?” 

She opened the file and held it out to him. “Because the murder suspect is Destin Taylor,” she replied. “The same man that you tried unsuccessfully to help put away back in 1994.” 

Unable to mask his surprise, his mouth hung open slightly and his brow furrowed as he slowly took the file from her and studied the crime scene photos of the young female victim. “Haven’t … heard that name in ages,” he whispered to himself. 

Feeling that she had finally roped him in, she proceeded to fill him in on the case but he abruptly interrupted her, surprising and dismaying her with his next statement. 

"You thought wrong, Detective," he dryly contradicted her. He closed the file and shoved it back at her. "I can't help you." 

<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>

Notes: 

Sorry that this is such a short opening. I plan to keep this to no more than four or five chapters. Just wanted to write something for that cold fish, Dr. Washington. Maybe make him a little more likable. Okay, maybe a smidgen LOL 

Had to look up the proper abbreviation of Method of Operation. I had typed M/O but it’s M.O. 

Slight reference to Forever TV show 2014 episode New York Kids S01/E07. 


	2. Harold's War Ch 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Washington shares something with Jo that explains more why he stopped going along on field investigations. He also demonstrates an unorthodox theory of his as to how the murder was committed. Will it be enough, though, to nail Taylor as his wife's killer?

VVVVVVVV

Jo couldn’t believe her ears. She had been sure --- well, pretty sure --- that once Dr. Washington was informed that a perp from his past was a suspect in a new case, he would jump at the chance to help put him away now. The lovely detective stood her ground, though, and continued to try to convince him to join her in the investigation. 

“Look, Dr. Washington,” she began. “He is a suspect in this murder that has definite similarities to the murder he was tried for in 1994. His young wife of only seven months was shot and killed while asleep in their own bed. Now, here it is more than 20 years later and his new bride, half his age, was also shot and killed while sleeping in their bed.” 

At the mention of “new bride” and “half his age”, he appeared to react. When he extended his hand and she gave him the file again, she felt encouraged. When he opened the file again and studied more closely the victim’s crime scene and morgue photos, she felt more encouraged. 

“This young woman, Paige, bears a strong physical resemblance to his first wife, Delia,” he said, his eyes troubled as he read the accompanying reports. “Same age … but he got rid of her a lot sooner.” He suddenly closed the file, thrust it back at her again, and stood up. “I need to see that crime scene,” he told her. 

Before she could respond, he hurriedly exchanged his white lab coat for his jacket and brushed past her, headed towards the door. “Come on, Detective,” he said over his shoulder. “I understand you have a fast car and a lead foot. Let’s put them both to use.” 

vvvv 

While Jo drove (sans lead foot) over to the Taylor home where the crime had occurred, she found it hard to believe that sitting next to her in the passenger seat was the snidely Dr. Harold Washington and not Hanson or Henry; that is, once he adjusted the seat all the way back to accommodate his lengthier frame. Only he wasn’t so snidely right now. Excited maybe but he definitely wore a look of determination as he appeared lost in thought. Even though it had been her own idea to involve him in the case, she still found it almost surreal that he was actually participating. And not only participating but she seemed to be following his lead. She glanced over at him a few times and tried unsuccessfully to engage him in conversation. When he did respond, it was only in grunts. 

“This is it,” she said and parked the car in front of the Yorkshire Towers on 2nd Avenue. They exited the car and stared up at the 34-story façade. They began to approach the entrance and Washington broke the silence. 

“I hope you understand, Detective, that I’m here only to satisfy my own personal curiosity,” he said. “And to test a theory.” 

“While in your official capacity as an ME, right?” Jo asked, slightly alarmed at his words. He was there to help with the case, wasn’t he? 

“No need to get your feathers ruffled, Detective,” he tiredly told her. “We’re both here in our official capacities.” 

He then strode toward the entrance and went in ahead of her, not even holding the door for her or looking over his shoulder to make sure that she had entered without a problem. Like if she had to suddenly raise her arm up to block the heavy door from banging back into her face. Something like that. Jo frowned and twisted her mouth up as she shuddered and clenched her teeth. It had taken her a while to get used to Henry’s strangeness but he had always, always treated her with the utmost respect. He’d always let her “go first” because she was the one with the gun and the badge; but more so because he was first and foremost a gentleman. Okay, she thought to herself, Washington had lost his taste for field investigations a long time ago along with basic courtesy --- that is, if he ever had any at all. 

They rode the elevator up to the top floor and eventually wound up in the Taylor couple’s beautiful apartment furnished with white, rolled-arm couches, marble floors, end tables made out of cedar tree roots with cast iron legs. It also showcased a modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances and a large butler’s pantry. The nice appointments extended to the two bathrooms. Its Southern light and spectacularly expansive views stretched to Central Park. By all accounts, it should have been the perfect love nest for upper-class newlyweds. 

Oddly, there were no photos of the recently-deceased bride. Perhaps the grief-stricken Taylor had stored them out of sight. She had done the same when she’d removed Sean’s picture from atop her desk at work and placed it in the desk drawer because it was too painful to look at whenever it had caught her eye. But a more sinister scenario began to form in her mind just as Washington spoke. 

“No pictures of his new wife anywhere. Looks like he’s moved on,” he said in his usually disparaging tone but this time she reluctantly agreed with him. She followed him into the bedroom and expected him to visually scour it for clues. Instead, he looked at the bed as if imagining the sleeping, then dying young woman there from a single gunshot wound to the neck just above her chest. 

“We’ve been able to figure out the trajectory of the bullet,” Jo told him, “but it would indicate that the shooter was on the floor ---” 

“Right here,” he said, pointing to a spot eight feet away on the right side of the bed and four feet away from the wall. 

“Um, yeah,” Jo concurred. “It doesn’t make any sense, though. Since she was asleep, she wouldn’t have been aware of anyone aiming a gun at her. So, why crouch down like that?” 

“The ‘why’ is for you to figure out, Detective,” he replied but didn’t see her eye roll as she recalled he’d said almost the same thing to her during the Jason Foxx murder case. “But the bullet was definitely discharged from this spot.” 

“You’re sure about that, how?” she asked. 

He surprised her when he suddenly whirled around to face her and blurted out, “Because!” He quickly turned away but she could see that he was struggling to control his emotions. In a calmer voice he continued. “Because it’s the same way Taylor killed his first wife, Delia.” He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders but she could see that this was getting to him. 

“Look, um, if you need to take a break, we can come back later,” she offered. 

With a shake of his head and a barely audible “No”, he walked over to the small table near the window with a lamp on it. He pulled out a pair of blue gloves from his pocket and put them on. Jo stepped closer and asked him what did he see. 

“Something I saw back in 1994,” he replied. "And didn't do a damn thing about it then," he added in a deeply self-condemning tone.

It wasn’t enough of an answer for her but she decided to let him do his thing, whatever that was. Although it was more fun watching Henry work, it was still very interesting to see this man now in his 60’s with short, snowy hair and piercing blue eyes once again totally involved in a murder case. She tried to imagine him involved back then in a little more Henry-ish way but decided that he was his own man. Meticulous --- at least back then, maybe ---, determined, and convinced that his own findings were the correct ones. There was a deeper reason, she felt, that had made him quit field investigations. 

Washington picked up the lamp and examined it, turning it around in his hands. Then, he put it back in its place and stepped back, looking down at the table’s storage compartment. “If I’m not mistaken, there should be a newspaper around here somewhere.” 

Newspaper? Jo wasn’t sure where he was going with this nor was she sure he was even speaking to her. But she remained silent and continued to watch. 

He bent down and opened the storage compartment. Inside was a used and rolled up newspaper atop a pile of five books as voluminous as dictionaries. He pulled the items out and closed the compartment. “Just as I thought,” he said to her as he held them. He handed the newspaper to her and placed the books on the floor in the same spot he had identified earlier as being the origin of the bullet discharge. 

“Doctor, wha-what are you ---?” 

“Newspaper,” is all he said in reply and held out his hand. Jo gave it to him and he opened it and tore off a page then handed it back to her. A confused Jo took the paper but before another question could bubble up from her, he said that it worked better for what he was about to show her, better than any other type of paper. Then he asked for a glass of water. When she didn’t move, he looked at her and repeated the request/order. Confused but intrigued, she quickly went into the kitchen and returned, passing him the glass of water. 

“Thank you,” he replied and squatted down. While she had been gone, he had removed the cord from the lamp. The end with the exposed wires lay under the newspaper page atop the pile of books. He then poured a little of the water on the paper, making sure it soaked through. Then he stood up and rushed over to the bed and propped one of the pillows up longways on the side on which the victim had been lying. He then returned to the odd pile and plugged the cord back into the wall before shooing her out of the room into the hallway with him. 

“Doctor …" 

“It’ll take just a few minutes,” he told her. 

“What will take just a few minutes,” Jo asked, exasperated. “Why are we ---?” The sound of a gunshot reverberated from inside the bedroom and interrupted her. “What the ---?” 

They burst back into the room to find the newspaper page naturally blown away and exposing a discharged gun atop the books. The white-haired ME displayed uncharacteristic jubilance over the results of his unorthodox experiment. 

“Where’d the gun come from? And what just happened here?” Jo demanded. 

“An experiment, Detective,” he replied with what she perceived to be a smile tugging at his lips. A smile? She was amazed. 

“This is how Taylor killed his wife, Paige,” Washington told her. “The electrical current from the lamp cord helped to cause the exposed wires wrapped around the cocked gun’s trigger to build up enough heat to catch on fire. The spark then caused the gun to discharge, while the water doused over the newspaper helped to immediately extinguish any flame. All the murderer would have had to do after that was disassemble everything and reattach the cord to the lamp. No one would ever suspect any of these items, other than the gun, to be capable of murdering someone.” 

Jo stepped closer to get a better view of the odd assembly. “And since he was nowhere near the gun when it discharged …“ She and Washington looked at each other with slowly widening grins. “That’s why he didn’t have any GSR on himself or on his clothes! He didn’t wash up, he simply hadn’t even been in the room when the gun fired!” 

Washington’s smile gradually faded and his attention returned to the items of murder. “And to answer your question about the gun, it’s mine. An old one but I am still licensed to carry it since it was issued to me back in 1992,” he explained. “I’m surprised but glad that it still works. You might want to take a few pics as you youngsters say, in order to document all this as the murder weapon.” 

Jo took out her cell phone and snapped a few photos of it and switched over to record a video of him disassembling and providing periodic explanations as he first unplugged the cord from the wall. He then placed the newspaper and books back into the small table’s storage compartment and the glass that contained the remainder of the water on the table next to the lamp. He then lifted up the lamp to expose the bottom into which the cord would normally be threaded. 

“I should leave the cord unattached for now,” he said. “As you can see, the cord has previously been cut and then reattached when the wires were twisted back together after the murder.” He coiled the cord next to the lamp and walked back over to stand next to her. “No one would have suspected an innocent lamp to be a part of such a deadly murder plot.” 

Jo saved the photos and video and emailed them to herself and to Lt. Reece before pocketing her phone. “Even if the CSU had dusted and found his fingerprints on the lamp, it wouldn’t have raised any red flags because this is the bedroom he shared with his wife.” Washington nodded. She noticed that he was gazing sadly at the propped-up pillow that had stood in for the victim. 

“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” she asked. He jerked his head at her, frowning. “It wasn’t just because Taylor walked back then that made you quit field investigating,” she clarified. She realized that it was very bold of her to have asked him and she wasn’t quite sure how he would react or respond. 

He studied her face as if wondering if he could trust her with that painful part of the story. They had barely said more than 20 words to each other during the two years that she’d been with the 11th Precinct and dealt with the OCME. But, he decided, he’d come this far. Might as well tell her the rest. 

“It was my own arrogance that made me so sure that Taylor was guilty and would spend the rest of his life in prison for having killed his first wife, Delia,” he began. “I foolishly promised her grieving family members that they needn’t worry.” He laughed at himself. “Washington was going to save the day.” He laughed again though clearly unhappy. “I’ll never forget the look in their eyes when that not guilty verdict was announced. All their heads turned toward me. Me and my big mouth!” 

“You … can’t blame yourself for that,” she told him. 

“But _they_ did!” he said more forcefully and ran a hand over his short-cropped snowy hair. “And that smug expression on Taylor’s face didn’t help any.” He didn’t trust himself to look at her anymore. “Well … it helped bring me back down to earth. Helped me remember that I didn’t belong out there with the investigators. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing!” 

“I beg to differ,” Jo told him. “You’ve done a helluva job just now. Let’s go nail this sucker.” 

This time he followed her as they left the apartment and she heard him say, “Haven’t heard that kind of talk in ages. Music to my ears.” 

VVVVVVVV 

Notes: 

The idea of the items used to prop up and get a gun to fire is taken directly from **_After the Thin Man_** , a 1936 American comedy film directed by W. S. Van Dyke and starring William Powell, Myrna Loy, and James Stewart. 


	3. Harold's War Ch 3

Abe’s Antiques the next afternoon … 

Abe had picked his father up from the hospital and brought him home. The small room behind the retail counter was to become his temporary quarters for the next couple of weeks until he could safely navigate up the stairs to his own bedroom. Abe again questioned his decision to heal naturally instead of fast-tracking it, saying that no one would be the wiser. He would just have to pretend to still be injured and he could get back to partnering with Jo. 

“It’s best not to raise any suspicions from anyone,” the longer-lived man replied. “Especially not from my physician or my physical therapist. We do this the long way.” 

“You mean the hard way,” Abe muttered. “But … I get it.” Then, perking up, he said, “Hey, I wonder how Jo’s making out partnering up with that Dr. Washington you guys drag so much.” 

“We don’t necessarily ‘drag’ him as much as his lackadaisical attitude toward his work,” Henry explained. “It will be interesting to find out how things are going, though,” he admitted. 

“Well, she hasn’t called to complain about him yet,” Abe noted. “Maybe he’s turning out to be as good a Sherlock as you are.” When he saw his father’s sideways glare at him, he quickly added, “You never know.” 

Henry chuckled. “I would expect that by now she’s probably tearing her hair out --- or his.” He chuckled again and turned his wheelchair so that he directly faced Abe. “At any moment, the phone will ring and it’ll be her complaining about the man’s obnoxious behavior and how unhelpful he’s been to her on this case.” 

Abe crossed his arms and scoffed. “You’re, uh, sure of that?” he asked. The landline phone on the retail counter rang and Abe quickly went over and answered it. 

“Abe’s Antiques, how may I help you? … … Oh, hi, Jo … … Yeah, we just got back; he’s right here.” He stepped aside to make room for Henry as he wheeled up to the phone and handed him the receiver. 

“Hello, Detective.” Henry’s satisfied grin slowly melted and his eyes widened just a bit. “Well, that’s … fantastic.” As he listened to her glowing report on Washington and his sleuthing skills, his expression gradually morphed into a frowning pout. “Sounds as though you didn’t need Det. Hanson or me after all.” She confirmed what he’d just said and he stopped himself from rolling his eyes when he noticed Abe watching him, not bothering to hide his amusement. 

“Are you sure you don’t need me to look over some of the evidence?” he asked, hopeful. “You could email whatever you have to Abe’s computer and …” There was a long pause before he visibly deflated and quietly replied, “I see. Well, that’s … fantastic.” 

It was clear to Abe that it wasn’t fantastic and whatever Jo was telling him was far from what his father had predicted it would be. 

“Yes. Thank you for calling,” Henry told her. “And congratulations on such an obviously successful turn of events,” he remembered to say. He then handed the receiver back to Abe, who hung it up for him since the phone was a bit out of his reach from the wheelchair. He wheeled himself back into the small room aware that his son was right behind him. He sighed and turned his wheelchair around to face him once again. 

“Uh, what was that you were saying about her calling to complain to you about something or someone?” Abe asked, a smirk on his lips that he knew his father definitely did not like. 

Henry tilted his head to the side, raised his eyebrows but cast his eyes downward to his clasped hands in his lap. He then quietly asked his son to bring him a wet towel. Abe, confused, frowned and asked why. “So that I can sufficiently wipe the egg off of my face,” his father replied. Abe began to laugh and eventually drew out Henry’s chuckles that grew into heartier laughter. 

vvvv 

The 11th Precinct … 

Jo hung up her desk phone after speaking with Henry and smiled. Despite what he had told her about Washington’s help to her being “fantastic”, she could hear the hesitancy, disbelief, and a bit of disappointment in his voice. Her own observational skills --- although, admittedly not on the level of Henry’s --- served her well along with a keen cop’s ear to the hidden emotions sometimes heard in the voices of others. Even though it was totally understandable that her favorite ME would have doubted that Washington could deliver the goods, so to speak, she hadn’t expected him to be disappointed at finding out otherwise. Was it possible that he was afraid of being replaced by Washington as her unofficial partner? If that were the case, she decided she’d let him stew a while in order to teach him a lesson because no way was that going to happen. 

“Martinez,” Reece said to her as she walked past her desk. 

“Right behind you, Lieu,” she replied and quickly left her desk to fall in step with Reece and Washington as they hurried toward Interview Room #1 to question a now 54-year-old Destin Taylor in the presence of his lawyer and confront him with the new evidence uncovered by Washington. While she questioned the now slightly paunchy and greying, 54-year-old suspect, Reece stood next to Washington as they watched on the other side of the two-way mirror. 

“How does it feel being back in the saddle again?” Reece asked him, keeping her eyes on what was going on in the Interview Room. 

“I wouldn’t put it quite that way,” he began, “seeing as how I am allergic to horses.” 

“Doctor, I only meant that ---” 

“I understand what you meant, Lieutenant,” he said before she could finish her sentence. “I just hope this time we can make this stick. This man is responsible for ending the lives of two innocent young women. He should have been behind bars decades ago,” he added with not a small amount of bitterness in his voice. 

“Well, thanks to what you remembered from the previous case,” she began, “and your help on this present one, Jo just might be able to make it stick this time.” With that, they turned their attention to the interrogation underway. 

Jo opened the brown folder in front of her and took out the photos she’d snapped of the books, lamp cord, gun, and dampened newspaper page. She spread them out upside down for her, in front of Taylor. 

“Look familiar?” she asked. 

Taylor leaned forward with a disinterested expression on his face and briefly studied each photo. He then leaned back and said, “Looks like somebody’s been playing building blocks with the books from my bedroom.” His eyes, a clearer blue than Washington’s, were empty of any humanity. How he had been able to get a first date, let alone get even one gullible woman to marry him was a mystery to her. 

“Why are you showing this to my client?” his lawyer, David Vance, asked. “If you have any real evidence, either produce it or we’re finished here.” 

Jo kept her eyes trained on Taylor. “I think you know why I’m showing you these photos,” she replied matter-of-factly. She then activated the video on her cell phone of Washington’s step-by-step explanation about the items of murder and showed it to him. When it ended, he looked smugly at her and scoffed. 

“That … is utterly ridiculous,” Vance said. 

Taylor, however, began to frown. “Wait. Washington.” He looked at Jo and said, “Harold Washington.” 

“He is the ME assigned to this case, yes,” she told him. 

His eyes slowly traveled to the two-way mirror while Vance dismissed the videotape and photos as preposterous postulations. 

Taylor interrupted Vance when he asked, “He’s on the other side of that glass, isn’t he?” Before she could respond, he said, “Just like last time.” Taylor scoffed. Vance cautioned him but he continued. “My defense blew a hole in the case against me back then and none of this,” he said as he waved a hand over the photos, “will work, either.” 

Unshaken, Jo raised an eyebrow and returned his dispassionate gaze with one of her own. “Technology has caught up a lot since 1994,” she began. “Everything ---” 

“No. No,” Taylor confidently insisted, shaking his head. 

“Everything,” Jo emphasized, “that Dr. Washington demonstrates in this video will convince any jury that you planned your wife’s murder and used this collection of odd items to do it.” 

Taylor laughed although his blue eyes remained ice cold. “You’re wrong. He’s wrong.” His lawyer advised him not to say another word but he ignored him. “Your ME didn’t get it then and he still doesn’t get it now,” he insisted louder. 

“My ME is just too smart for you,” Jo declared; and it felt odd referring to Washington that way since he wasn’t Henry. 

Taylor’s protests grew louder and more insistent to counter her further berating of his intellect. 

“We’re done, Detective!” Vance angrily announced. 

“You got that right,” Jo calmly replied. She then stood up and flicked her head toward the uni standing near the door. “Take him down to ---” 

Taylor suddenly jumped up, clearly frustrated at not being taken seriously by Jo, furious at not being allowed to finish a sentence without her talking over him. “He was too stupid to figure it out then and he still doesn’t get it now!” he yelled. Vance made a greater effort to calm him down and silence him but it was a losing battle. Jo clearly had him rattled. 

“Oh, you’re the one who still doesn’t get it,” she calmly returned. “This evidence will sink you!” 

“Not without the cloth!” he yelled again, his lips curling back in a strange grin to bare his teeth. Vance, defeated, slapped his hand to his forehead and dropped back down into his seat while his clearly disturbed client continued to sink himself with his own words. 

“That dumb ME left out the _cloth_ that goes under the _gun_ to soak up the water and absorb the gun powder residue and keep it off of the books! Any idiot would know ...” The realization that by his own words, he had sealed his fate hit him hard causing him to flinch and blink as he slowly sat back down, his icy blue eyes full of regret and sorrow. But not for either of his victims. Sorrow for his careless slip of the tongue brought on by a bruised ego. 

“She wanted to leave me,” he said in a barely audible whisper. “Just like that other … ungrateful …” His breaths came faster, his chest heaving. “After all, I did for them. I was the best husband. They didn’t want to give the marriage a chance! That’s all I asked of them was to give it a chance!” He had jumped up again nearly upsetting the table. The uni stepped forward and clamped his hand on Taylor’s shoulder, forcing him back down into his seat. Taylor’s face crumbled as he fought back tears and he raised his clasped hands, pressing them against his forehead. “They just want to leave. Why do they … always want to leave?” 

Jo cringed as she slowly stepped back and away from him. She glanced over at the two-way mirror as if she could see Reece and Washington on the other side. She then turned her attention back to Taylor but held off charging him with his wife’s murder thinking he'd have to first undergo a psychological evaluation. She then instructed the uni to cuff him and take him down to the Holding Cell. Vance offered no objections as he dropped his hand from his face and leveled a glare at Jo. It was evident to both of them, however, that mental incapacity was either at play here or Vance planned to use that as his client’s defense. 

VVVVVVVVV 

Notes: 

Felt this was a good stopping point but there’s more to come. And while Henry might feel a bit left out right now as far as partnering with Jo in the field, he needn’t worry. Washington will not replace him. 

Some people are allergic to horses or at least exhibit symptoms of rhinitis and asthma after walking through a horse barn. [ https://www.verywellhealth.com/what-is-a-horse-allergy-and-what-are-the-treatments-82713 ](https://www.verywellhealth.com/what-is-a-horse-allergy-and-what-are-the-treatments-82713)

I wasn’t sure if a mentally ill person could be charged or not. So, in this instance, Taylor isn’t charged pending a psychological evaluation. [ https://www.pennlive.com/living/2014/10/what_happens_when_the_mental_h.html ](https://www.pennlive.com/living/2014/10/what_happens_when_the_mental_h.html)


	4. Harold's War Ch 4

_“That dumb ME left out the_ **_cloth_ ** _that goes under the_ **_gun_ ** _to soak up the water and absorb the gun powder residue and keep it off of the books! Any idiot would know ...” Destin Taylor abruptly halted his tirade, realizing that he’d just validated Dr. Washington’s theory of how he’d murdered both of his wives the same way decades apart._

VVVVVVVV 

On the other side of the two-way mirror, Washington inwardly rejoiced as he watched Taylor implode during Jo’s rather routine interrogation of him. A welcome feeling of vindication ran through him although he knew that a guilty verdict against the two-times wife murderer would best serve everyone. 

Reece, instead of turning to look directly at him, studied his faint reflection in the glass, and shared what she saw on his face to be the satisfaction from a job well done. But never in her wildest dreams had she thought one day she would be standing in this spot with Harold Washington aka Dr. Gloss-over. From what Jo had told her, he had performed as admirably as Henry had by pulling a rabbit out of his medical hat in the form of an implausible murder scenario that turned out to be true. Besides that, it appeared to have been accurate enough to get a rise out of the suspect and push him to as near a confession as they could hope for. The file on the old murder case from 1994 showed that he had maintained his innocence all through the trial when he had been found not guilty and for decades after. Sadly, though, because of the constitutional protection of double jeopardy, there would be no justice for his first wife and murder victim, Delia Taylor. However, the family and friends of his second wife, Paige, had a pretty good chance at seeing justice served. She prepared herself when she saw the ME’s fuzzy reflection turn towards her. 

“Will you be needing me for anything else, Lieutenant?” he asked her. There was no smugness, no disparagement either in his tone or carriage. She replied in the negative. “Then, if you’ll excuse me, I shall return to my office.” He walked over and opened the door, poised to leave. 

“And thank you, Doctor,” Reece told him. 

He paused before replying, “The saddle. It does feel good.” 

Reece thought that she almost saw a smile as he walked out of the viewing room. She followed him out into the hallway and met up with Jo, who was watching him walk away toward the elevators. They fell in step with each other as they headed toward the bullpen and discussed Taylor’s fate, noting that his legal counsel, David Vance, was rated one of the best criminal defense lawyers who’d won several high-profile cases with his bag of legal tricks. 

“Don’t worry, Jo,” Reece assured her. “I’m very confident that with your new ME’s help, we’re gonna put this guy away this time.” 

“He’s good but he’s not my new ME,” Jo protested. “Henry is just temporarily out of commission and Mike ---” 

“Jo … look at it this way,” Reece began as she interrupted her. “You now have two unofficial partners to help you solve crimes besides Mike. Don’t sweat it.” They had reached Jo’s desk and Reece, with a wide grin on her face, left her there, and walked into her own office. 

In the next two weeks, Mike returned from vacation a few days early after his two rambunctious boys had destroyed a chandelier in the main lobby of their hotel by swinging from it like Tarzan, they’d said. In the meantime, Henry was growing weary of healing the “long way” while his son dangled the car keys in front of him on nearly a daily basis. It was never easy for Abe to even think of helping his father to once again self-demise but it was either that or endure at least three more weeks of caring for his highly-critical, big baby of a Dad. 

Washington, contrary to what Reece had told Jo about him being another weapon in her arsenal of crime-solving, refused to accompany Jo on any other field investigations. He’d only joined her in the Taylor case because of a personal vendetta, he’d admitted to her. 

“At my age, Detective, I’m best suited for the morgue,” he told her. Then, not wishing to imply the wrong thing to her, he quickly added, “for the autopsy portion, that is.” 

vvvv 

Jo sat at her desk and picked at her lunch; a delicious Thai chicken and rice dish that had gotten cold while she had spoken with Washington over the phone. Reheating it in the microwave wouldn’t revive the original tastiness of the dish, though. She pushed it aside and cringed but smiled as she heard Hanson groan over the phone while his wife, Karen, hit him with the news of how much the hotel’s chandelier repair bill was. 

“Okay,” he sighed, defeated. “See ya tonight.” He hung up the phone and eyed her wearily. 

“How much?” she asked, still cringing. She cringed more when he told her $1,400. “Ouch!” She shrugged and said, “Boys will be boys.” 

“And sometimes monsters that eat a hole in my bank account!” he loudly gruffed. “Jo, take my mind off of my money woes, please.” She asked how could she possibly do that. “Fill me in on how things worked out with you and Washington while the Doc and I were gone.” 

While she did so, he gradually took on the appearance of being not only surprised but disappointed, as well. It reminded her of how Henry had sounded when she’d shared the same news with him about Washington. 

_‘Dang_ _, guys, you should be happy that everything worked out okay and we nailed the perp.’_

“Uh … well, that’s … great,” Hanson finally managed to say, schooling his features to hide his disappointment. He’d selfishly hoped that the older ME known for his surliness had given her a lot of trouble. But now, it looked like he’d have to share partnering duties with yet another ME who turned out to be another brilliant crime solver. 

vvvv 

Three weeks later … 

After being found mentally fit to stand trial, Taylor’s lawyer, David Vance, made plans to file the first of many motions for a continuance in an effort to allow public attention of the crime to wane. In the meantime, a bail hearing was set for that Friday, three days away. Washington may have “retired” himself from further field investigations but it totally incensed him that Taylor might walk again by being released on bail. Because of that, he reluctantly attended a meeting in Reece’s office along with Jo, Hanson, and Henry. 

“Thank you for joining us, Dr. Washington,” Reece told him. “I know how valuable your time is but I hope that you can help provide some more insight into this matter.” He kept his eyes on her and nodded. She felt the tension in the air between the other two men and him and wondered to herself if this unexpected union would really work. Once they saw how he worked, she was certain that they would warm up to him as she and Jo had. Warm may have been a bit of an overstatement but she was sure they would see him in a new light after working with him. Hopefully. 

“Welcome back, Mike,” she said. He smiled, nodded, and returned her greeting. She felt it best not to mention anything about his shortened vacation fearing it would touch on a sensitive nerve. Those two boys of his. She knew everything that went on in her precinct. 

“And you, Dr. Morgan,” she said. “Good to have you back and seeing you getting around much better lately.” A remarkable recovery, she thought to herself. Must be that UK-inspired diet of his. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Henry replied. “It’s good to be back.” After a pause, he acknowledged that he was, in fact, getting around better these days. “I’m a … fast healer.” And, thankfully, a good swimmer having successfully avoided getting arrested the night before after his own brand of self-healing. He hoped the cane for his leg and the elastic gauze wrapped around his left hand and wrist were enough to fool everyone into believing he was still healing normally. 

“The ADA assigned to prosecute this case needs some more ammunition,” Reece told them. “Her investigator could use some help to solidify the case against Destin Taylor and deny him bail this coming Friday.” 

“As I recall,” Washington began, “he had an extensive collection of old movies on VHS. Film Noir. Murder mysteries and the like. Perhaps he was less of a fan of mysteries than he was a student of murder,” he proposed. 

Henry considered Washington’s words. He, himself studied dead bodies hoping one day to permanently become one. Searching for clues. Searching for a workable solution. Taylor must have been doing the same thing with his movie collection. He recalled during the 1930’s and 40’s how he had found himself surprisingly entertained by the likes of the Sherlock Holmes series of films and the Thin Man series. There was something about the strange arrangement of the murder items that sounded familiar to him. Just as he was attempting to connect them to a memory in the back of his mind, he heard Washington say something to Reece that helped. 

“His lawyer contends that Dr. Washington’s theory is based on pure conjecture,” Reece began, “and that his client is simply so intelligent that he was able to assess that the cloth would be the missing component IF it and the other items had been used together as the murder weapon.” She scoffed and shook her head, disgusted. 

“Or he studied those films backward and forwards,” Washington began, “in order to find the most ridiculous method with which to murder someone.” 

“A method so ridiculous as to be unbelievable,” Henry added. 

“We’d have to prove that he studied that ridiculous method and practiced it before he put it to use,” Hanson said. 

“We shouldn’t have to view his entire collection, though,” Jo said. 

“Yes,” Henry said. “Just Goggle it to pinpoint the exact movie in which the method was employed.” 

“You mean Google,” Washington corrected. 

“Ah … yes, yes, that’s what I meant,” Henry replied, slightly embarrassed. Abe had told him that more than once. He had to remember it in the future: Google. 

“Strange that a young man such as yourself would get that wrong,” Washington told him. He finally turned his head to the left to look directly at Henry, his expression yielding nothing as to what his inner thoughts were. 

“Henry’s not a big fan of computers or technology,” Jo dryly replied for him. 

“Well, that’s something else we have in common,” Washington told Henry; and he returned his attention back to Lt. Reece. 

What else did they have in common? Henry asked himself. Jo, he concluded. Partnering with her in the field. He knew from her that Washington had declined to work with her again in that capacity. Was the man now reconsidering? 

“Then, let’s get on that now,” Reece ordered. “We’ve only got three days so work as quickly as you can."


	5. Harold's War Ch 5

After they left Lt. Reece’s office, Henry remembered a scene in a “Thin Man” movie that would help narrow down their online search. However, the movie’s exact title and placement in the series eluded him. 

“It shouldn’t be too difficult for us to sift through each of the films to find that scene where he builds the murder, ah, pyramid, for want of a better word.” 

Jo sat down at her desk and woke up her computer. She first Googled “William Powell” and clicked on the link for his Wiki. While the screen loaded, Washington said that he was sure it wasn’t the first film; possibly the second or third in the series. 

“How many were there?” Hanson asked. Don’t make this sound like it’s  gonna be any harder than it should be, he silently pleaded. 

“Six,” Henry and Washington replied in unison, then shared a look of surprise and then reluctant but mutual admiration with each other. Washington explained that he had become a huge fan of the series after watching the first three movies one Saturday afternoon at the Metrograph on Ludlow Avenue in his senior year of high school. 

“Ah! That would have been in 1971,” Henry carelessly let slip. 

“How would you know that?” Washington asked, frowning slightly. “You weren’t even born yet.” 

Henry swallowed and managed to mask the fear on his face and in his voice. “My, ah, roommate, Abraham, is also a huge fan and has mentioned at different times that he had attended the Sunday afternoon showings of the last three in the series.” What he didn’t share with them was that he and Abigail had also sat through the showings with their son. Happy to have him back from Vietnam and helping him experience happier times afterward. Thankfully, the others removed their suspicious gazes from him and concentrated them on Jo’s computer screen when it finally loaded. 

It only took a few minutes of reading the individual synopsis of each film before identifying which movie in the film series included a scene where the star, William Powell, compiled items into a “pyramid” as Henry had named it, identical to the one that Washington had and then declared it to be used to murder Paige Taylor. Jo then moved over to YouTube and pulled up the second movie in the series, “ **_ After the Thin Man _ ** ”. While they all watched the scene in question, both ME’s nodded and smiled, although Washington’s was more contained. He was also growing impatient. 

“Now that we’ve studied this scene that Taylor must have also studied,” Washington began, “what do we do next to prove it?” 

“We expand our search to find out where he could have conducted his experiments,” Henry supplied. “It would have to have been in a location more secluded and private than his home.” 

Hanson speculated that Taylor could have used a silencer so as not to alarm any of his neighbors. Jo agreed it was possible but that they should find out if he owned any other properties in a more secluded area. Somewhere outside the city limits. A subsequent property search provided them with several possibilities but a vacation  home in the Hudson Valley owned by his family since the late 1940’s held the most promise of being a secluded spot where someone could conduct experiments in murder away from prying eyes. 

vvvv 

The foursome, with Hanson at the wheel, motored into the tiny community of Rhinebeck and followed the narrow, winding road to the  rustic, three-bedroom home on Rhinebeck Road. It was hard to imagine that the otherwise idyllic setting  tucked away in the trees harbored a dark secret. The entryway with stainless wire staircase and bluestone tile opened up to the spacious living, dining, and kitchen areas. The newly-painted cabinetry and wooden butcher block counters paired nicely with the stainless-steel appliances. 

“This looks even nicer than his home in the city,” Jo marveled as she looked up and around at the simple but comfortable furnishings. “We should get upstairs,” she said, referring to the bedrooms. 

On the second level they found three bedrooms and two full bathrooms. While Jo and Washington entered what appeared to be the master bedroom, Henry and Hanson each took one of the other two bedrooms. Before doing so, though, the two men exchanged a look, both aware that the other was feeling a little left out since Washington was by Jo’s side. Of course, they were both aware that the other ME was now the co-lead in this particular investigation but the situation was temporary. Once this case was closed, both men were certain that things would return to normal as far as Jo having one official partner in Hanson and one unofficial partner in Henry. 

“Guys!” Jo’s voice rang out from the master bedroom and both men quickly left the bedrooms they were searching (and finding nothing helpful) and entered the master bedroom. Once inside, they found Washington carefully scrutinizing the left side of the bed’s headboard. Jo turned a smug smile to them. “We found it,” she said. “Bullet holes on the side of the bed where his wife, Paige, would have slept.” 

Washington straightened up and said, “They’re plugged up but bullet holes, nonetheless.” He moved to the foot of the bed while Henry and Hanson moved closer to the headboard to study the holes. Washington had unplugged one of them but there were several; at least eight.

“It appears it didn’t take him long to perfect the operation,” Washington observed. “After which he repaired the holes and if she ever did visit here, she would never have been aware of them. Never would have known that her new husband was planning to shorten her time on earth.” 

“Why not kill her right here?” Hanson wondered. “I’m just sayin’.” 

“There would have been fewer suspects,” Henry offered. “By killing her in their home in the bustling city, his claim that someone else was to blame would be more credible.” 

“Exactly,” Washington said. 

“He didn’t count on someone else being as much a fan of old murder mysteries as he was,” Jo said, smiling at Washington. 

The white-haired ME, accustomed more to being frowned at and having disparaging remarks made about him, averted his eyes from her and cleared his throat. “We still have to find the, uh, pyramid, as you call it, Dr. Morgan.” 

They each split up to search the waste receptacles in the house and then outside where Hanson made the discovery. He called out to the others as he propped up the lid of an 1100-liter, wheeled waste receptacle on the side of the house. Inside was a small library of books of various sizes but more importantly, used newspapers and some balled up individual pages, spent bullet casings, and several thick wash clothes with dark residues on them. 

While they all crowded around and looked at the otherwise innocuous items, Hanson happily declared, “Bingo!” 

“Bingo again,” Jo said as she latched onto the edge of a half-buried VHS tape. She held the tape up for the others to see and especially the title:  **_ Foolproof Murder Schemes _ ** . They would find later that the scene from the William Powell movie was featured on this videotape. 

The CSU team had been called out and while they scoured the vacation home for more clues, the foursome returned to the precinct where they shared their discoveries with Reece. 

“Good job, you guys,” she praised them. “This should do it,” she added. 

“Where is Taylor now?” Washington asked. 

“Locked up in the Psych Unit at Bellevue,” Reece replied. “Package all this up and send it to the DA,” she instructed them. “The long arm of the law has finally clamped down on this guy for good.” 

vvvv 

The Psych Unit at Bellevue … 

Destin Taylor gripped the bars of his holding cell and pleaded with his lawyer, David Vance, get him released. 

“I can’t do that, Destin,” Vance told him. “Your bail hearing is this Friday; I’m sure the judge will grant the request so just hang in there.” 

“It’s a nightmare in here!” a scowling Taylor hoarsely whispered. 

Vance looked up and around at the surroundings and then back at Taylor. “It’s not so bad here. State of the art facility. You should have everything you need,” he reasoned. 

“Except my freedom!” Taylor angrily replied. 

Vance sighed and stepped back. “You’re behaving like a child. Now, get a hold of yourself and I’ll see you Friday morning in court.” Vance called for the guard to open the door for him and left. 

Taylor watched him walk away and muttered to himself. “Can’t wait until Friday. I’ll find a way out of here myself.” 

VVVVVVVV

Notes: 

The movie theater in this fic is inspired by the actual theater called the  Metrograph on Ludlow Street in New York City.  [ https://metrograph.com/ ](https://metrograph.com/)

Descriptions and locations of vacation homes outside the New York City limits found on several Internet sites including vrbo.com and holidayhomes.com


	6. Harold's War Ch 6

_“The long arm of the law has finally clamped down on Destin Taylor for good,” Lt. Reece had assured the group of four investigators._

VVVVVVVV 

Despite how much Destin Taylor had pleaded (with his lawyer), bribed and cajoled (the guards) in order to be released from custody before his bail hearing that Friday, he had remained in the Psych Unit at Bellevue. The morning of his hearing found him pacing back and forth in his cell. His voice rose and fell while his hands moved expressively from time to time as if to emphasize certain points. Clearly, he was rehearsing what he would say to the judge which went against his lawyer’s advice. 

“There’s no need for you to say a word,” Vance told him as he watched him continue rehearsing. “Destin, if you continue to ignore my advice, you go into that courtroom without me!” 

That caused Taylor to abruptly halt his activity and he stared open-mouthed and speechless at Vance. He then angrily plopped down onto his bunk. “Alright,” he said but he was too angry to look at Vance. “But if this hearing doesn’t go my way --- you’re through.” 

_“Okay by me,”_ Vance thought to himself. He then reminded Taylor that his bail hearing was 2:00 PM that afternoon and left. 

vvvv 

In the morgue, Washington sat in his office and glanced again at the clock on the wall. Taylor’s bail hearing was now two hours away. He looked again at his lunch of a half-eaten Greek salad and sighed, closed up the small container, and tossed it into the wastebasket next to his desk. His appetite just hadn’t been there today. Perhaps, he told himself, it would return after he heard the judge deny bail. A knock on his door and a soft, “Harold?” caught his attention. He looked up into the face of a woman a few years older than he. But he knew her by the haunted look in her eyes. The decades between 1994 and today had not lessened the pain of loss for Delia Shaw Taylor’s older, never-married sister, Irene Shaw. Not that any length of time ever would but if the man responsible for her death had been punished by the legal system, he was certain that the pain would have been a little easier for her to bear. He rose from his chair. 

“Irene. Please,” he said and motioned for her to enter and take a seat. He sighed and retook his seat. “I wish we could meet under better circumstances.” 

“It is what it is,” Irene replied with a soft but forced smile. She straightened up and said, “I spoke with the DA assigned to prosecute that bastard for his latest murder. She refuses to use anything pertaining to my sister’s murder against him. Something to do with that damn double jeopardy and him getting off the first time. She said it would be like trying him for the first crime or some such garbage.” 

“I’m, uh, not a lawyer,” Washington told her. “But the law is the law no matter how much we hate it in this instance.” 

“She said that there’s enough evidence to keep him behind bars this time, to make him pay.” Irene paused to catch her breath and blink back tears. “Even now, my sister gets no justice.” 

He wanted to assure her that she had nothing to worry about but memories of his assurances to her and her family back in 1994 made the words stick in his throat. “I wish I knew what to say to you.” He rubbed his fingers over his mouth and then said, “We just have to hope for the best.” 

“The best would be seeing that bastard fry. But New York doesn’t have the death penalty.” She took in a deep breath and stood up. 

“Why don’t you go home,” he advised her. “I’ll phone you after the hearing.” 

"Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Irene replied. She then thanked him for his time and for helping to make the case against Taylor once again and left. 

Washington glanced at the clock on the wall again. It was time for him to meet up with Det. Martinez so they could attend the hearing together. 

vvvv 

In the working area of the morgue, Henry weighed the liver of an elderly fall victim. He then noted the results and handed it off to Lucas so he could process it in the specimen lab. 

“You’re getting around great in that office chair with the wheels,” Lucas observed with a grin. “Doesn’t look like you’re even in any pain,” he added. “Lucky you.” 

“Well, I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable with my groaning,” he lied. Note to self: pretend to grunt in pain occasionally. Must make this recovery believable. 

“Must feel kind of strange you not accompanying Det. Martinez to court on this one,” Lucas said after he returned from the specimen lab. “That Washington,” he chuckled. “Who knew that he could Sherlock as good as you.” At that, Henry visibly stiffened. Lucas gulped and said, “Did I say as good as? I meant almost as good as. Because nobody’s as good a Sherlock as you, Henry. Not in a million ---” 

“Lucas,” Henry interrupted him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to try to make me feel better about Dr. Washington having been of valuable service to the detective on this case. Everyone who can, should contribute and work toward obtaining justice for any of our murder victims.” 

“C’mon, Big Guy,” Lucas said. “You don’t think she’ll switch you out for him sometimes?” 

Henry scoffed and fought the urge to roll his eyes. “You mean do I feel threatened by the man?” In making claim to her affections, no. For her to call on him again in a future case --- yes. He wished that he wasn’t experiencing such childish pangs of envy but he was. But he refused to let Lucas know that. “On the contrary, I welcome him into the fold.” Sometimes he just hated himself for the lies he told others. 

vvvv 

The Criminal Court of the City of New York, 2:37 PM … 

Written arguments had been submitted by both sides Wednesday and Thursday. Taylor had also been arraigned at the hearing, having been deemed mentally fit to stand trial. Highly doubting that last part, Jo and Washington sat together in the spectator section behind the prosecutor’s table. They were glad, though, that the case would proceed against Taylor. Jo could feel the tension rolling off of Washington and they both remained hopeful that bail would be denied. However, their hopes were dashed when they heard the judge agree to set bail at $2 million. Taylor would only have to put up 10% or $200,000 --- cab fare for him --- and he would be back out on the street! 

Washington sat forward in his seat and scowled at the smug expression Taylor showed him. Jo put her hand on his arm and whispered to him that everything would be okay. That she and Hanson would tail him so closely that he’d think they were a part of him. 

“I’m just glad I didn’t repeat my earlier mistake of promising anything to the victim’s family,” he told her. “I gotta get out of here,” he said hoarsely and was out of his seat and out of the courtroom so fast that she didn’t have time to even think of a reply. 

She assumed that the ME would wait at the car for her so she remained until Taylor and his lawyer, Vance, walked away from the defendant’s table. She stepped in front of them and pulled her jacket aside to display her badge clipped to the waistband of her jeans. 

“Det. Jo Martinez, NYPD,” she said in a dry, official voice. 

“We know who you are,” Vance told her with an expression as smug as Taylor’s. “I just don’t know why you’re trying to detain my client now.” 

“Trust me, Detective,” Taylor teasingly implored her. “I’ll be a good boy and show up for my trial date. After all, I am innocent.” 

“You and I both know that’s a bunch of BS,” she shot back at him. “But you can be sure that my partner and I will be on you like white on rice until then.” 

“Partner? You and snowcap?” Taylor asked, chuckling. He then lowered his voice and looked her up and down. “How about you and I getting together to discuss, uh, how you’d like me to behave from here on out?” 

“No thanks,” Jo told him. “I’ve never been partial to scum.” She spun on her heel and stalked out of the courtroom and punched the elevator call button with her fist. 

Once outside the courthouse, she saw an upset Washington leaning against the side of her car with his arms crossed. As she studied him, a car pulled up and parked behind hers. She saw Washington uncross his arms and appear alarmed at the sight of the matronly woman behind the wheel. Something was upsetting him and she quickened her pace, running down the steps. As she drew closer, she heard the urgency in his voice as he plead with the woman to leave. 

“What happened?!” the woman he’d called Irene demanded of him. When he failed to reply, she hissed, “The bastard walked again, didn’t he?!” 

“Ma’am, I’m Dr. Washington’s partner ---” 

“I don’t care WHO you are!” Irene yelled at her, interrupting her. “He killed my sister and he’s not walking anywhere but into a body bag!” 

“Ma’am, you need to calm down and leave the justice to us and the authorities,” Jo told her. 

“Listen to her, Irene,” Washington pleaded. “She’s a cop. Think of Delia. She wouldn’t want for you to wind up behind bars.” 

His words seemed to help calm her down and it looked at first like she would leave. But just at that moment, Taylor and Vance walked out of the courthouse lost in conversation as they slowly descended the steps. Everything happened in slow motion from there. Taylor reached the street just before Vance. Irene rushed out of her car and extended her arms over its roof. From nowhere, it seemed, a gun was in her hands and she aimed it at Taylor, who froze as he stared at the gun, frightened. Jo whipped out her gun and ordered Irene to drop hers or she’d fire. At the same time, Jo saw Washington out of the corner of her eye as he rushed backward and positioned himself in front of Taylor. Two shots were fired in quick succession but in opposite directions. Everything quickly returned to normal movement but found Irene on her back in the street and bleeding from her left shoulder after Jo had shot her. Near the bottom of the courthouse steps, though, a bloodied Harold Washington lay unconscious on top of Taylor, who managed to extricate himself from underneath him. 

Jo ran around the car into the street to check on Irene, who was conscious but in pain. She whipped out her phone and called for a bus, and then instructed two unis who’d run out of the courthouse to stay with the woman. She then returned to the other side of the car and quickly moved to Washington’s side. 

“He’s alive but barely,” a third uni told her as he kept the pressure on Washington’s abdominal wound. 

Jo knelt down beside him and bit her lower lip, fighting back tears. “You hang in there, you old crusader,” she whispered, holding his hand. “Stay with me.” 

VVVVVVVV 

Notes: 

Partial information about arraignments and bail hearings in the Criminal Court in the City of New York taken from an article about Ghislaine Maxwell, the ex-socialite accused of having helped lure young girls to the late pedophile, Jeffrey Epstein. 

[ https://www.fox5ny.com/news/prosecutors-want-ghislaine-maxwell-to-face-bail-hearing-friday-in-new-york-city ](https://www.fox5ny.com/news/prosecutors-want-ghislaine-maxwell-to-face-bail-hearing-friday-in-new-york-city)


	7. Harold's War Ch 7 END

New York Downtown Hospital, Room 503 … 

Harold Washington slowly blinked his eyes open and realized that he was flat on his back, hooked up to tubes in a hospital room. He swallowed and took in a deep breath, letting it out with a moan. He felt an unmovable heaviness in his abdomen and the reason behind it slowly played out in his mind. Irene Shaw had aimed a gun at Destin Taylor but he had caught the bullet. Not for Destin’s sake, though. He wanted that heartless murderer to live so that he could stand trial and be convicted. His death would have deprived Paige’s family of justice denied Delia’s family decades before. 

“Good morning,” a male voice greeted him. 

He turned to the direction from which the voice came and saw a familiar face in the form of Dr. Wu. “Morning but not so good,” he dryly replied. “Am I going to live, Herman?” he asked. 

“You’ll live,” Herman replied with a grin. “Been quite some time since I dug a bullet out of you, though, Harry. Don’t tell me at your age you’re going crusader again?” 

_ “Hang in there,  _ _ you _ _ old crusader.”  _

Jo’s emotional plea for him to fight to survive came back to him. “No. Guess the … old instincts kicked in forgetting that this body can’t easily shake something like this off anymore.” 

“Look, I keep up with the news,” Herman told him. “And I can make a pretty good guess why you got involved with this case.” He moved closer to the head of his bed and lowered his voice. “Best to leave this kind of stuff to the real cops with the badges and guns. Guys our age, nearing retirement … kind of an unwritten rule that we coast from here on.” 

“ So I’ve heard,” he replied. “What’s the damage?” 

"The bullet missed all your vital organs,  you lucky bastard,” Herman told him. “My prognosis is good for you to walk out of here in a couple of days.” 

“Thank you for saving my life --- again,” he replied. 

“What’s that other guy’s name you work with at the morgue, uh, Morgan? Dr. Morgan. He’s always out there helping the police solve crimes,” Herman said. “Leave the heroics to him. He’s younger, stronger, and obviously more able to handle his foolishness.” 

Harold tried not to laugh, not wanting to experience any abdominal pain, preferring to allow the lead-weighted heaviness to remain undisturbed. Morgan. Him and his seeming love for chaos and insanity irked him again just at the thought of him. He still had that gleam in his eye when working through a body to determine the COD. Still had that hopefulness in his voice and attitude that worked together to provide closure for the victims’ surviving kin but also could backfire on him one day. Just as it all had on him in 1994. On the one hand, he wanted to commend the young man for his devotion to duty. On the other hand, he wished he could sit him down and school him on the disappointments he might one day find himself confronted with. Give him some advice on how to temper that enthusiasm of his that he attempted to hide under all that proper British comportment and pretense of a stiff, upper lip. 

Harold could see right through him. Henry wanted to unearth all of the facts in a case no matter what; and he’d do anything to get at the truth. He’d heard the mutterings from different  uni’s about Henry’s seeming non-existent sense of self-preservation. And, it was only human to revel in the “victory” of a case solved and a perpetrator put away. It wasn’t his place to try to impart any wisdom to the young man, he silently decided. Herman’s words cut into his thoughts. 

“But it must have been nice working with a beautiful  _ woman _ detective this go-round,” Herman teased. “I can write you a stronger prescription for your blood pressure medication, if you like.” 

Just as Harold was about to unleash a choice expletive deleted on him, Jo appeared at the foot of his bed. Herman dug his chin into his chest and hoped she hadn’t heard that last statement made purely in jest. 

“Hi. Hope I’m not interrupting,” Jo said. She gave no indication that she’d heard Dr. Wu’s misguided attempt at humor, much to his relief. 

“No, Detective, we were just finishing up,” the doctor replied. “I’ll check on you tomorrow morning,” he told Harold and left. 

Jo stepped closer to the white-haired ME, a slight smile on her face. “Guess he’ll bring your new prescription tomorrow morning,” she said. 

He rolled his eyes and groaned. “Please don’t hold that against me, Detective. His inane remarks are purely his own.” 

Jo chuckled and let him know that it didn’t bother her. “It should,” she told him, “but I’ve heard it all, believe me,” she said with a tired roll of her eyes. She paused a moment to switch subjects. 

“You had us all worried there for a moment,” she quietly told him. 

He suppressed another laugh to ward off any unnecessary pain. “And weeping in the halls, eh, Detective?” 

Jo dropped her smile. “No.” She stared him in the eyes to make her point. “We were all genuinely worried about you whether you like it or not. That’s what happens when you join a family, Doctor. Like it or not, when you stepped into this investigation and saw it out until the end, you became part of the NYPD family. You got that?!”

He stared back at her wide-eyed and surprised. “Yeah. Got it. Family.” A smile betrayed him and her smile returned. “Do you also boss your other two partners around like this?” he asked. 

“I don’t boss anyone around, Mister,” she responded. “I just tell the truth.” His smile spread a little wider and he nodded. “And the truth is, that was a dumb thing you did.” 

“You’re right,” he replied. “But you won’t have to worry about it happening in the future. Since that moment, I have been officially retired from field investigations.” 

“Again.” 

“No,” he replied. “For good.” 

vvvv 

Six weeks later … 

The halls of the OCME and the 11 th Precinct’s bullpen were still buzzing about the heroics of Dr. Harold Washington now dubbed (or re-dubbed) The Old Crusader. No one, however, dared say it to his face. He was still a force to be reckoned with, as he demonstrated on his first day back at work as he sounded out a new Assistant ME for misspelling the name on a specimen jar containing a victim’s liver. 

“He’s BA-ack,” Lucas sing- songed in a lowered voice to his friend and fellow Assistant ME, Smitty. An anxious expression suddenly wiped Smitty’s grin off of his face and Lucas startled when he heard Washington's voice behind him. 

"Excuse me,” Washington said. 

Lucas gulped and slowly turned to face him, ready with an apology, if necessary. 

“You’re Lucas, right?” Washington asked. 

“Uh … yeah,” Lucas managed to reply. 

“I just wanted to thank you for helping with my caseload while I was out on medical leave.” Washington extended his hand to him. 

“Oh, I … was just, uh, doing my part is all,” Lucas stammered. 

“Well, good work is always worthy of praise,” he plainly stated. 

Smitty nudged Lucas with his elbow and flicked his head toward the ME’s outstretched hand. Lucas then shook hands with the older man. While Washington walked away and entered the morgue, Smitty whistled under his breath. 

“He thanked you. He actually thanked you like a normal human being would,” Smitty marveled. “Next, he’ll be invitin’ you to a Knicks game.” 

“Nah,” Lucas chuckled his reply. “I think he’s just trying to come down out of the stratosphere and rejoin the human race.” 

“Oooo, well said, Professor,” Smitty joked. Tell me --- got any more of those ‘meaning of life’ gems to share?” 

Trading barbs, they resumed pushing their respective corpses back into the cold storage portion of the morgue.

Inside the morgue, Washington strode toward Henry’s office and stood at the open door. “Dr. Morgan?” 

Henry looked up from the report he was working on and quickly stood up. “Dr. Washington,” he greeted him. “Won’t you come in.” 

Washington walked in and was offered a seat. “No, uh, I won’t take up much of your time,” he replied. “I just came to thank you for … for taking on much of my caseload while I was out of the office.” 

Henry was quite surprised but immediately replied that he was welcome. “I’m sure you would have done the same for me.” Actually, he wasn’t quite sure of that but it was the polite thing to say since it appeared that Washington was trying to make amends of sorts. 

Washington’s hands were shoved down into the pockets of his white smock. He pulled them out and extended his hand to Henry and they exchanged a handshake. He then shoved them back into his pockets. “I’ve never really been what you might call a warm person. I’m sure you can attest to that. And I’m not saying that’s going to change very much for I am what I am after all these years. But I will endeavor to be more civil to others from now on. Life is too short to remain a perpetual sour puss.” 

Henry said nothing but smiled and offered him a look of understanding. 

“You’d be surprised, Henry, what a near-death experience does to a person. Your life flashes in front of you. I saw people and places from my past as well as the present. In color,” he added with raised eyebrows and a chuckle. “It was … the most frightening and most amazing thing that I’ve ever experienced.” 

“I can … only imagine,” Henry replied. Inwardly, he was fascinated to learn of the man’s experience, not too unlike his own. Except he knew the difference was that Washington had been snatched from the veil of death and returned to the land of the living. He, on the other hand, had always passed through that veil to find himself rebirthed into the land of the living. Through his thoughts, he heard Washington thank him for listening and for him to ‘Have a nice day’. 

“Same to you,” Henry called after him as he left. 

Jo returned Washington’s nod as they passed each other just outside Henry’s office door. She entered his office and informed him that they had a body. Did he want to accompany her? 

“Are you certain you wouldn’t want to have a different ME join you in the investigation?” he teased. 

“Keep me waiting much longer, I just might,” she teasingly cautioned him. 

With that, he jumped up from his chair and exchanged his smock for his jacket and scarf. He followed behind her, limping slightly and favoring his right leg. 

Jo looked down at his legs and frowned. “Why are you limping with your right leg? I thought it was your left that had been broken.” 

Henry froze for just a nano-second and swallowed before replying, “It, ah, sometimes happens that a dependence on the stronger limb will cause it to become weak, as well. Physical therapy should help me to regain my strength in both legs.” He grinned widely at her and dipped his head, hoping that the lie would satisfy her. And he wondered why he had become so careless around this woman lately. 

“Henry, you have a knack for giving an answer that really isn’t an answer,” she wearily told him. “But if I could crack a hard shell like Harold Washington’s,” she smugly warned him, “you better believe I’ll crack yours one day.” 

As they left the morgue and headed for the latest crime scene, he silently held no doubt that she eventually would. He was pleasantly surprised to realize that he looked forward to that day. 

VVVVVVVV 

Notes:

After several continuances filed by Taylor’s high-priced lawyer, Vance, that delayed the trial for eight months, Taylor was eventually tried and convicted for the murder of his second wife, Paige. The jury deliberated for just 45 minutes and once polled, revealed it was a unanimous decision. Taylor was then sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. 

Irene Shaw faced charges of attempted murder against Taylor and second-degree assault against Washington. She was represented by a public defender, was tried, convicted, and sentenced to two years but because of time served, she was released after only 13 months. Taylor nearly had a stroke when he found out. 

The character, Smitty, appeared in “Forever” TV show 2014 episode “The Fountain of Youth” S01/E03. 


End file.
